Blood is Thicker
by Taedae
Summary: A devastating attack leaves Hermione with half of her humanity and no memories of her life. Barely sure of who she is, she is now left trying to learn how to remain human while Lord Voldemort's forces push war even closer. Takes place after the events of Order of the Phoenix.
1. Chapter 1: Lethe

**_Alternate Universe Details:_** _Horcruxes don't exist. Otherwise mostly compliant with canon until the end of OotP, with some exceptions that will be mentioned along the way. Partly OOC Hermione, explained by the plot.  
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**_Warnings:_**_ Rape is mentioned, but no details are provided, and the incidences took place before the story begins._

**_Author's Note: _**_To those of you who have read the original chapters, I have good news and bad-ish news. Bad news: the rewrites are taking a lot longer than I had planned (for a number of reasons, mostly involving RL), so I am changing my updating method. I have removed the original versions of the chapters and will be uploading the updated versions as they are completed. Good news: I have _betas,_ which means no more typos and grammar struggles! I apologize if the slower schedule bothers some of you, but I didn't want to power through the rewrites because I would have ended up in the same situation I was in in the first place. However, I promise that the new versions of the chapters are definitely worth the wait! Also note, this is the new Chapter One, so feel free to give it a fresh read!  
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_To new readers, thank you in advance for reading. __I welcome comments, suggestions, and even corrections. Also, I love getting into the minds of the readers so feel free to review as you read. Your comments help authors more than you know! Enjoy!_

_***{Thank you to my amazing betas; McGonagall's Bola and _ _Defying Expectations}***_

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**Chapter One: Lethe  
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Pain ... indescribable pain. That's all there was. She couldn't feel her body anymore through the searing heat of agony invading her senses. There were voices around her, but they sounded muted and distant, making it impossible to understand what they were saying. The voices gave way to an eerie, nerve-stripping laughter. It sounded vaguely human, but as it grew louder, it mutated into something guttural and wrong, almost like an animal. The unbearable torment coursing through her somehow managed to intensify, jolting her brain back to life, and a startling realization crushed down upon her fragile mind. She was dying ... and she couldn't even remember why.

Shrieks of terror pierced the air, cutting off the twisted sounds of euphoria around her. The pain eased slightly, and she could detect the frantic sounds of movement nearby before she unwillingly surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

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She woke to the gentle rumble of voices. The mysterious owners spoke quickly in hushed, grave tones. Her curiosity flared to life, pleading with her to investigate, but she couldn't summon enough energy to open her eyes. The thin flaps of skin that covered her eyes felt like solid sheets of steel, and she could barely recognize the weight of her limbs, let alone the sensation of what lay beneath her. Even the most simple attempts at piecing together a coherent thought took too much energy, and she drifted back into unconsciousness.

She woke again to complete silence, the type that provokes a low frequency hum to vibrate in your ears. The contrast to the voices she had overheard earlier startled her, snapping her brain into gear. Breathing deeply, she attempted to move, but her muscles burned in protest, causing her to moan.

A gasp broke the stillness, followed by the sharp scraping of a chair sliding across stone. The sound of rustling fabric filled the room as the person nearby scrambled to their feet and rushed away, their heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. The creaking of a door being pulled open drowned out the departing footfalls before the door slammed closed, silence reigning once more.

After a brief pause to audibly access the space around her, she determined that the room was empty and attempted to open her eyes. It was a mindbogglingly long process, but at least her eyelids no longer felt like metal walls. Finally able to peek through her lashes, she was greeted with near darkness, except for the gentle flickering of a torch mounted on the opposite wall. Prying her eyes open further, she slowly turned her head to the side to examine the rest of the room.

A few additional torches lined the walls, though only the one closest to her had been lit, making the dim glow of the moonlight coming through the large windows the only other source of light in the room. Thick, aged stones formed the ceiling, their high arches merging into half-columns as they connected with the wall. A small metalwork chandelier hung from the cavernous ceiling, supporting six thick unlit candles. Her eyes traveled around the room, taking in several small dividers made of green curtains, pulled across metal rods that stood between the empty beds nearby. Wait ... Beds? Blinking, she glanced down at the bed beneath her, which ─ with its crisp white linens ─ looked identical to the other beds in the room.

The door at the other end of the room crashed open, followed by the sound of many vehement footfalls. Startled, she threw her head to the other side of the bed to see several men and women clad in vibrantly colored robes. The mass of people came to a stop near her bed, close enough to get a good look while just barely keeping enough distance to avoid crowding her. Some stared with wide eyes, mouths open in shock and their hands pressed tight to their chest, while others appeared to be fighting back tears.

A series of emotions ran through her as she looked at the group of unfamiliar people: fear, anger, nervousness, confusion.

Just as the unyielding attention started to become uncomfortable, a tall, elderly man dressed in silvery-blue robes gently pressed through the mass of people, stepping up to the edge of the bed with a calm smile. The aged skin on his face gave way to soft wrinkles, and his gentle smile was framed by a lengthy, white beard that matched his long mane of hair. His blue eyes were bright behind a pair of half-moon spectacles, and they seemed to glitter with a light entirely their own.

"Welcome back, Miss Granger." The man's voice reflected his appearance: gentle, but lined with a hint of grainy resonance. He must have been expecting some sort of recognition from her, because his smile slipped away the longer she remained silent. The natural brightness of his eyes dimmed at her confused expression.

Turning to a rather tall woman standing at the edge of group, he leaned close and whispered quickly into her ear. The woman wore a deep green cloak over a set of black robes, a pinched ruche trailing down her front from her neck to her abdomen, and her graying hair had been pinned back in a tight bun. Her stern, aged face contradicted her emotional gaze as she listened intently to the man's words. She gave him a stiff nod before turning away and stepping through the group. Her fading footsteps cut through the tense atmosphere until she slipped through the door at the end of the room.

"You don't remember me, do you?" the man inquired, grabbing the girl's attention once more. She shook her head. "Most interesting," he mused under his breath. His smile reappeared as he clasped his hands together. "Not to worry, we can talk more after your inspection."

"I-Inspection?" the girl sputtered.

"Your medical inspection," he explained gently. As if beckoned by his words, another woman pushed her way through the group of onlookers, carrying a small silver tray. She walked purposefully around the bed to the other side and placed the tray on the empty nightstand next to it. "Shouldn't take long. We can talk afterwards."

"Why do I need a medical inspection?"

The man lowered his head a little to gaze at her over the top of his spectacles. His smile remained, but the light in his eyes had yet to return to its full intensity. "We can talk afterwards," he repeated slowly. Before she could ask any more questions, the man turned to the group and quietly ushered the many onlookers out of the room, closing the door behind them.

The girl turned her head to examine the woman working with the tray next to her. She wore a very simple set of crimson robes with a white, full-body apron over it. A worn metal pin had been fastened to the left hand side of her apron ─ just above her heart ─ and her curly gray hair had been pulled back under the cover of a long, white head dressing that resembled the standard nurses uniform from the 1940's. The girl watched the nurse in silence as she organized the items on the silver tray, but, after a minute with no acknowledgment from the woman, the girl pressed her palms to the bed and lifted herself into a sitting position. "I don't need an examination. I'm fine."

The nurse, finally turning to look at her, threw her a sharp glare. "I will be the judge of that. Now lay down."

"No."

The nurse let out an aggravated huff and waved dismissively in the girl's direction. "Fine. Do as you like. Dance if you want to. But you are not leaving here until I have finished looking you over." The nurse's stern tone had successfully killed any further protest building on the girl's tongue.

Dipping her hand into the pocket of the apron, the nurse retrieved a thin, elm wood stick. The body of the stick appeared lighter than the handle, the wood simulating the appearance of the ripples made in sand drifts, while the handle had been carved into a likeness similar to the columns around the room. Though it was sleek and refined in design, there was a certain aged elegance that seemed to perfectly compliment the woman wielding it. Grasping the handle with familiarity, the nurse started muttering under her breath, waving the stick between them in rhythmic patterns. She would pause in between each of the sequences to lean over the nightstand so she could write on a chart that lay on the far side of the silver tray. After several more calculated waves of the stick through the air, she stopped and eyed the girl, as if waiting for some sort of reaction. The silence stretched on as the two women held each other's gaze.

"Do you know what I am doing?" the older woman asked.

"Medical enchantments."

The nurse frowned and slightly tilted her head to the side. "And what is your name?"

The girl's mouth opened, but only due to an unexplainable reflex to answer the question. What _was_ her name? Feeling a little stunned with her inability to provide an answer to such a simple inquiry, she closed and reopened her mouth, hoping the answer would just come out on its own. Instead, she was left staring at the woman with her jaw hanging open, like a frog who expected flies to just make themselves at home.

Clicking her tongue in response, the nurse straightened up and grabbed the chart off the tray so she could make a few additional notes. "Interesting. You know what magic is, but you can't remember your name."

"I never said I couldn't remember my name," she shot back defensively. Regardless of the fact that the nurse was right, she didn't like the feeling of vulnerability that came with admitting it.

"You didn't have to," the nurse grumbled. Without so much as a glance in response to the glare the girl shot her, the nurse continued scribbling on the chart. "You don't even know where you are, I bet."

The reflex flared to life once more, and she opened her mouth to argue, only to close it again seconds later when she couldn't figure out what to say. The nurse was right once again: she had no idea where they were. The logical part of her brain had registered the fact that she was in a hospital room, but she definitely didn't know what lay beyond the door across the room, nor had she been able to recognize any of the people who greeted her earlier. For all she knew, she could be in a mental facility. Feeling defeated, she lowered her head and let the nurse continue while she examined her fingernails.

When the medical inspection was complete, the nurse turned to the nightstand and picked up three of the seven vials available on the tray. She removed the stopper from the top of the vials and poured the contents of each into a single clear, glass goblet. The colours twisted and swirled, making an intricate pattern as they blended together.

"Drink this."

The girl glanced at the goblet, then back at the nurse with a blank expression. Did the woman think she was stupid? She had just woken up after being unconscious for an undetermined amount of time, surrounded by people she didn't know, to find herself in a mysterious hospital room, due to some unknown situation. The last thing she wanted to do was consume an unidentified beverage handed to her by someone completely foreign.

The nurse pursed her lips at the girl's hesitation before reaching out and grabbing her hand, shoving the goblet into her palm. "Honestly, child. I'm a_ Healer_. Do you really think I would try to poison you? Now, drink."

Biting her tongue at the annoyed look on the woman's face, the girl gathered her courage and did as the nurse demanded, swallowing the concoction as quickly as possible. The smooth texture wasn't enough to make up for the abominable taste, and a shiver of disgust ran down her spine.

Content, the nurse took the goblet out of the girl's hands and placed it back on the tray with the empty vials and medical chart. "I will retrieve Professor Dumbledore now." Seeing the confused look on the girl's face, the nurse added, "The man with the white beard," before lifting the tray and sweeping from the room through the large wooden door.

The silence that filled the room was excruciating. A whole host of questions invaded the girl's brain, each one just as important as the other. What had happened to her? Was she sick? Why could she not remember anything? What was going to happen now? The longer she remained alone, the more she felt like she would start to go insane with only her unanswered questions to keep her company. Feeling incredibly restless, she tried to fight the twitching and squirming that threatened to take over her body, before settling on distracting herself with looking out through one of the large windows. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly got to her feet, being careful in the event that something were to give out in the process. Her muscles were a little stiff, but the dull ache wasn't enough to dissuade her from crossing to the nearest window and peering out into the night.

The moon was almost at the peak of its cycle, and the full glory of its light easily illuminated the scenery. Glancing to the right, she saw the reflection of the moon bouncing off the surface of a nearby lake. The moon appeared to glitter as the gentle waves in the water bent and warped the reflection. Not far from the edge of the lake lay a large, deep forest. Even in the bright glow of the moonlight, the true depth of the woods couldn't be accurately determined, but there was something about it that seemed equally beautiful and foreboding. She allowed her eyes to roam free over the view, but there was nothing that she could use as a clue to figure out where she was. Though the expansive grounds boarded by the forest and lake provided a very picturesque sight, it didn't help to settle her deep desire to find out what was going on.

She had become so engaged with examining the view that she didn't hear when Dumbledore had re-entered the room, until the gentle clearing of his throat caught her attention. Startled, the girl spun around, her eyes wide from the shock of discovering that someone had been able to sneak up on her. He stood quietly, hands behind his back, watching her with great interest through his half-moon spectacles. There was no telling how long he had been standing there, silently examining her. The thought unnerved her but she started to slowly relax the longer they held each other's gaze. Something about the elderly man seemed calming and trusting, though she hadn't yet decided if that was a good thing or not.

"I assume you have some questions you would like answered," he mused in the same gentle tone he had used earlier.

"Yes." The girl returned to the bed, carefully lowering herself to sit on the edge while keeping her eyes trained on him. Dumbledore, holding her gaze in return, took a seat on the bed opposite her. She waited quietly, expecting him to begin speaking immediately, but the silence stretched on as they studied each other. A little of the twinkling light had returned to his deep blue eyes, making her feel almost naked under his gaze. It gave her the unsettling feeling of having her soul examined, and she shifted uncomfortably. "Are you waiting for me to ask or are you just going to tell me what's going on?"

"I want to see how much you remember first. Madam Pomfrey – the nurse who examined you, that is," he explained after seeing the girl's confusion, "informed me that you do seem to remember _some_ of your magical knowledge."

"Yes."

"That's good. And what exactly about magic do you remember?"

Glad for an excuse to break their eye contact, she glanced at the floor to gather her thoughts. His gaze was so profound that it made it very hard to think within any reasonable capacity. "Everything, really." Her mind raced through what must have been the equivalent of a library's worth of magical knowledge. "Wands and their properties, the theory and application of Apparition, Floo powder and the fireplace network, curses, charms and other spells, potions and poisons, regulations of Portkey registration and creation..." The list of things she remembered could go on for days, however there did seem to be at least one hitch in her memory of all things magical. "But," She lifted her chin to match the man's gaze once more. "I don't remember how I learned it all. I just ... know."

"Fascinating."

A fierce but unexpected surge of anger swelled in her chest. It felt foreign and primal, yet also strangely natural, as if she should be able to find comfort in the building storm. Without any form of conscious decision, she allowed her mind to be seduced by the warmth of the emotion, and she clenched her hands into fists. "You all seem so interested in my misfortune," she snapped, glaring at Dumbledore.

Completely unfazed by her outburst, Dumbledore smiled. "Not at all. We are merely interested in what information you have retained since the incident."

Another biting comment had been resting on tip of her tongue, but the wizard's words pulled her up short and the remark died away. Just as quickly as the emotion had arrived, the anger running through her chilled into deep sense of dread, leaving her feeling as if a security blanket had been suddenly ripped away. A small, involuntary shiver ran through her, and she drew in a sharp breath in an attempt to steady herself from the sudden emotional shift. "What incident?"

Assessing in her reaction, the smile faded from Dumbledore's lips and he eyed her momentarily with an almost pained expression. He folded his hands, lacing his fingers together on his lap, and sighed. "I must admit, I had anticipated that you wouldn't remember what had happened, though I had hoped to be wrong." She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to silence her. "No questions for now. Please just listen. You'll get your answers soon enough." Her jaw snapped shut. They sat in silence for a moment, her eyes searching his. She was still reeling a bit from the emotional whiplash, so she decided it would be best to just give in to his request. Slumping her shoulders slightly, she bowed her head in submission. Satisfied, Dumbledore smiled. "As Madam Pomfrey told you, I am Professor Albus Dumbledore. I am the Headmaster here." Twisting his upper body slightly, he waved his hand toward the wooden door at the end of the room. "We are at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is where you learned your knowledge of all things magical."

Her gaze followed his gesture to the door, then she glanced around at the rows of beds around them. "And this is a medical ward?"

"Yes, this is the school infirmary. Madam Pomfrey is our resident Healer, aiding those students who are ill or injured."

The girl frowned. Whatever had happened to her, it had been intense enough to quite literally steal her identity from her, and though she knew that generally only extreme types of trauma could cause sudden memory loss, she didn't _feel_ sick or hurt in any way. Yes, her muscles were still a little stiff, but that could be the result of all kinds of strenuous activities. There was no guarantee that the mysterious event had played a part in it, even though it did seem like the most likely reason. With absolutely no information to go by on her own, the realization of how lost she truly was, was incredibly unsettling. "Sir, how long have I been here?"

"Not all that long," he responded casually. "Just a few weeks." Her eyes widened, and Dumbledore quickly lifted his hand again to silence her. "Ah, you promised you would listen."

The heat of anger slowly started to bubble up inside her again, elicited by the headmaster's casual tone. Did he really expect her to be _okay_ with the fact that she had been unconscious for so long? Part of her desperately wanted to give in to the heated emotion, but she resisted if only for the fact that she wanted answers that only he could provide. She took in a deep, calming breath before nodding, not trusting herself enough to speak.

Giving a nod of his own, Dumbledore continued. "You are soon to be seventeen years old and have attended this school since you were eleven. Your name is Hermione Jean Granger, and you are an only child, born of Muggle parents. I am not exactly surprised that, regardless of your amnesia, you remember so much of your studies; you have always been the brightest witch of your year." A small smile graced Hermione's lips at the compliment. "From September to June, you reside here at the school for the term, then return to your family during the summer months.

"This summer, however, you spent one month with your family before returning to the school. I had requested that you, and a few other select students who show great knowledge and promise, return to the castle early to assist the professors in their duties to prepare for the next school year. It is a fantastic way to put all that knowledge to use, and it looks very good on a resume to the Ministry," he added with a smile.

"Ministry ... of Magic." Hermione nodded lightly to herself. "Our government."

"That's correct."

"So you brought us here for an internship?"

"You could say that." Something flickered in the elder man's eyes; he was hiding something, but before Hermione could question him, Dumbledore continued. "All of you whom we had selected arrived a few weeks ago, at the end of July. There is only one week left until the new term starts and the other students will also return to Hogwarts. I am relieved that you have recovered before the start of term."

Another shiver ran its course through her body, and her hands started to shake. She couldn't understand why the mere mention of the incident seemed to affect her so strongly. Swallowing, she clasped her hands together in an attempt to control the tremors. "Recovered ... from what exactly?"

Dumbledore leaned back slightly, studying her over the top of his spectacles. "I understand the confusion is hard for you, Miss Granger, but I ask that you please do your best to calmly listen. What I am about to tell you will be difficult to process, but it cannot be taken back, so letting your emotions run away with you will do you no good."

Hermione stared at him in silence for a long time, suddenly unsure if she really wanted to know what had happened. Would the knowledge of what had shaken her to the core be a benefit? She lowered her head and silently debated whether or not to let him continue, weighing her curiosity against her fear. In the end, curiosity won out, and she let out a breath. "I'll try."

Pleased with her commitment, Dumbledore motioned towards the door at the end of the room that led to the rest of the castle. "I will need the assistance of a witness of the event for you to get all your answers. Is that all right?" She hesitated for a moment before reluctantly nodding. The headmaster smiled in response and twisted around, calling out to the closed door. "Professor Snape, could you join us, please?"

The door opened swiftly, and a tall man strode into the room. His pale skin stood in stark contrast to the all-black ensemble of a long frock coat, matching slacks, and dragon-hide boots. His jet black hair just barely brushed the top of his shoulders, framing his rather prominent features, and the deep crease resting between his brows added to his sharp and serious countenance. As he approached, stalking across the room like a predator coming for its prey, their eyes met and Hermione went stiff, staring at the man in shock. She _knew _him.

The headmaster caught the slight shift of her muscles tightening, and held out his arm, halting Snape's progression. "Something wrong, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's mind raced through a serious of unexplainable emotions. How did she know him? She hadn't been able to recognize any of the people who had been in the infirmary earlier. By all rights, she shouldn't know anything about the darkly clad man standing in front of her. But the longer she stared at him, the more confident she became in the knowledge that she truly did know him. Suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable, she lowered her head to avert her eyes from the two men watching her. "Severus Snape."

Her hushed tone carried clearly through the room and there was a moment of tense silence.

"You remember him?" Dumbledore gently inquired.

"Not exactly." Hermione shifted uncomfortably. Snape's lingering presence had somehow managed to spark her unnatural anger again, only this time the emotion felt more like a protective strategy than a comfort. She kept her gaze focused on the stone floor, which seemed to help to calm the storm within slightly. "I don't _remember_ him. I just ... _know_ him."

After another moment of strained silence, the headmaster cleared his throat and carried on with the explanation, almost as if the jolt in Hermione's memory had never happened. "A few weeks ago, about a day or two after you returned to Hogwarts, you and the other students were asked to go into the Forbidden Forest to help restock on Potions ingredients. Normally, the forest is forbidden to students, as it can be very dangerous, but several of the professors were accompanying you and your peers on this venture."

Hermione's eyes remained on the stone beneath her feet. Dumbledore's dismissal of what just happened seemed deliberate but Hermione didn't question it. In an attempt to distract herself from her racing emotions, she latched on to the headmaster's words and glance up, turning her head to look at one of the nearby windows.

"Yes," Dumbledore pressed on, answering her unspoken question, "that is the Forbidden Forest."

"Seems a bit ... unwise to have a dangerous forest right on school property, doesn't it?" she pressed softly.

"Well, Miss Granger, the forest was here long before Hogwarts was built; it had claim to this land first. That, and the founders of the school didn't see the point in destroying a rather useful bit of nature that was so conveniently right next to where they planned to build the castle."

A tingle of awareness tickled at her senses, and she turned her head to find Snape's gaze trained on her. The resentment she had been trying to hold back since he had entered the room finally broke through her barriers and she locked eyes with him, piercing Snape with a sharp glare. She couldn't explain why she felt so much ire torward him, but one things was sure: she really abhorred him. A heartbeat later, his impassive expression morphed into a sneer and he crossed him arms tightly across his chest. His menacing stance was clearly meant to intimidate her, but she didn't even flinch as their eyes continued to burn into one another.

Dumbledore glanced between the two of them. "As I was saying," he continued, clearing his throat to break the tension, "at some point, though we don't know when, you separated from the others. I am still unsure how. You are quite a sensible young woman, and I don't think you would choose to wander the forest alone." Hermione turned her gaze back to the headmaster as he spoke, more than happy to ignore Snape once more. "After you had been missing for a short time, Professor Snape took notice of your absence from the group and tried to locate you. Thankfully, he was successful."

"You were barely alive," Snape cut in, speaking for the first time since entering the room. His voice was deep and carried an unusual natural vibration, much like a gentle hum. He spoke softly and at a practiced pace, ensuring that every word would be correctly received. "You had been attacked by a group of half-vampires. They were too caught up in their ... activities with you to notice my arrival. They fled rather quickly when I made my presence known." Despite having thrown all notions of subtlety to the wind, his tone remained constant and his face had turned expressionless again.

A shiver ran down Hermione's back. Half-vampires? She didn't even know such a creature existed. Her emotions whipped around again, and a deep cold settled in instead, leaving her feeling like someone had pumped ice water straight in her veins. Though the intense fear suddenly coursing through her was not enough to shake her unexplainable dislike for Snape, she had no choice but to privately acknowledge that she would likely be dead without his help. "So you brought me here," she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

"Eventually. I did what healing I could first."

The chill she felt inside intensified, making her feel as though her lungs were being squeezed. She folded forward and placed her head in her hands, gently rubbing her temples in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure trapped inside. Between the revelation of her near death experience and her uncontrollable emotions, it was all took much to handle. She wanted to send them away. She didn't want to hear any more about what had happened. Yet, there was still that _small_ part of her that remained endlessly curious and refused to be silenced until she fed it just a little bit more. Head still resting in her hands, she sighed. "Am I ... not human anymore?"

"Yes and no," Dumbledore replied gently. "You are half-human now. The transition took place while you were unconscious."

"Transition?" Hermione peered over her hands at Dumbledore.

"Half-breed vampires carry venom much like full vampires," Snape spoke up, "but the venom reacts differently. It's not nearly as powerful, so it doesn't kill the victim. It is the half-vampire's responsibility to kill the victim themselves. If they don't, they risk the venom spreading to live tissue, which would cause the victim to become partially converted. The venom is only strong enough to target certain areas of the body." Snape's explanation sounded like it had jumped out of a text book. His words lacked any air of feeling or sensitivity.

"So I am like them now?" she snapped, frustrated with his disregard for the situation.

"No. Those who are half-breeds by venom, not birth, don't have the same venom as those born. The venom you will produce during a feed will merely be like a euphoric drug, causing your victim to enjoy being your meal."

"Victim?" she hissed. "I'm going to start killing people?"

"Nonsense," Dumbledore interjected with a gentle wave of his hand. "Your desire for blood will never be quite _that_ strong."

Sneering, Snape shot the headmaster a glare. "However," he harshly cut in, sounding highly annoyed at headmaster's attempt to soften the explanation, "you _will_ need a supply of blood from time to t─"

"Stop!" Hermione snapped, her voice echoing off the aged stone walls. "Just ... stop." The professors fell silent, their eyes trained on her as she lowered her head into her hands again, running her fingers deep into her hair. Snape's words invaded her mind: _'your victim', 'the venom you will produce', 'supply of blood'. _His dark voice bounced around in her head, the words slicing the soft tissue of her brain like razors. "I don't want to hear any more ... I can't handle this right now." Her head hurt so bad that she could barely see, and her body trembled with the force of her anxiety. "I didn't ask for this," she whispered, rocking back and forth on the bed.

Dumbledore leaned forward and extended his arm toward her. "Miss Granger─"

"I said no! _Leave me_ _alone_!"

Dumbledore' hand paused in mid-air, halfway between them. The air around them suddenly become thick and weighted, like some sort of dark aura had to leech into the room. A single glance at Snape told the headmaster that Hermione's outburst wasn't entirely unexpected. Without a second of hesitation, Snape slowly and smoothly stepped back from her and motioned with his head for Dumbledore to follow his lead. The headmaster's gaze momentarily shifted back to the troubled Gryffindor before silently following Snape. Once they had retreated to the door, Snape leaned toward him.

"I warned you," he bit out in a harsh whisper.

"Yes, you did," Dumbledore muttered sadly, a deep frown overtaking his aged features. Sighing, the headmaster turned back toward Hermione. "I understand that it is a lot to take in, Miss Granger. We will give you some time to think. Let Madam Pomfrey know if you need anything."

With that, the professors swiftly slipped out of the infirmary, the sound of the heavy wooden door echoing off the walls as it closed behind them. Unable to hold it back any longer, Hermione gave in to the emotions that felt like they were trying to tear her apart from the inside. Her body trembled violently as she curled up in the fetal position on the mattress, burying her face into the soft linens and crying, mourning the life she couldn't remember.


	2. Chapter 2: The Rules

_**Author's Note:**__ I'm still here! I want to apologize for my disappearance. A lot has been happening lately, nothing "special", just life. I have three kids - all boys, ages 2, 3 and 5 - and the oldest has Autism, so we've been running around to appointments and getting paperwork completed for difference services. I have also been gearing up to start full-time homeschooling this September with the oldest two. As well, I am an amateur makeup artist, so I have been working on a few things on that front, my husband and I play World of Warcraft with a group of our local friends once a week (we've been playing for eight years now), we go to Church every Sunday, **and** once a month we are part of a Dungeons &amp; Dragons campaign, which is run by one of our friends, but hosted at our place. So ... yeah, I'm all kinds of funky! ;) But those are just some examples of what has been monopolizing my time lately.  
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_If you are interested in sort of keeping up with me between chapters, my social media information in on my profile._

_Anyway, here is the long awaited updated second chapter. Things have really started to settle in now, and I have a better grasp of how to properly priorities everything so I am aiming to get future chapters finished, Beta'd, and uploaded much faster going forward. I am also looking at working on a second story at the same time, but I'll see how things go first. Hope you enjoy the chapter!  
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_***{Thank you to my amazing beta,_ _Defying Expectations}***_

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**Chapter Two: The Rules**

In the haze of her erratic emotions, Hermione lost track of time since Dumbledore and Snape's departure. Consumed by her grief, she lay motionless as the tears streaming down her face soaked the stark white linens coiled beneath her. What had started as mourning her loss eventually spiraled into an overwhelming frustration at her inability to control herself, and the more she tried, the worse her hysterics became. With so many emotions crashing together, she couldn't distinguish them anymore, and she started twitching and jolting unnaturally as her body overran with tremors. She felt numb and oversensitive simultaneously, and the combination was excruciating.

Finally, after crying herself dry and screaming her throat raw, she started to settle down. Shivering, she drew in deep, shaky breaths until her body went slack.

Laying perfectly still, her mind wandered as she attempted to sort through everything the professors' had told her ... and everything they _hadn't, _though she only had herself to blame for the drought of information; they had been quite forthright with her until she had exploded. With her stability in such a fragile state, she was left wondering what other revelations were waiting for her, and if they would also send her spiraling out of control.

The more she thought about it all, the more unsure of herself she became. Her body and mind both felt equally familiar and foreign, which wasn't much comfort. Was it _normal_ for her to be so emotionally charged? If only she still had her memories, then everything would be less confusing, but without the context of her old life for comparison, she had no idea what she was supposed to consider commonplace. The harder she tried to piece it all together, the more she realized that sending the professors away might not have been the best course of action. She needed answers. There were still so many things about her situation that she didn't know and the idea of moving forward without learning what was in store made her feel ill.

In the solitude of the infirmary, Snape's harsh statements crawled into the forefront of her mind. _'The venom you will produce during a feeding'_ ... _'You_ will _need a supply of blood'._

Curling up around the blankets, Hermione grabbed the pillow near her head and buried her face in it, trying to block out the professor's ominous words. He had made her sound like some sort of feral mutt ... but that's what she was, wasn't she? She had both blood and venom running through her body now, making her not quite human but not quite vampire. A horror, a demon, a supernatural freak. _A monster_ ... Groaning into the plush fabric of the pillow, Hermione silently prayed that someone would come for her soon, before she drove herself crazy.

An eternity seemed to pass before the infirmary door opened, the aged wood creaking as the hinges turned. She exhaled a sigh of relief as the visitor stepped into the room, their soft footfalls echoing off the stone walls. Tossing the pillow aside, she rolled over with a greeting on her tongue but it caught in her throat as she took in the dark figure moving toward her. _Snape. _A scowl formed on her lips as her temporary respite morphed into loathing, his mere presence sparking her anger just as it had earlier.

She had expected Dumbledore to retrieve her or at the very least Madam Pomfrey. It hadn't even occurred to her that the headmaster might send _him_ instead.

Snape had already moved half-way across the room before she finally collected herself. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and planted her feet firmly on the floor, facing him head on. "What do _you_ want?" she growled, pinning him with a glare.

Raising an eyebrow, Snape came to a stop. His relatively stoic posture gave little away and she would have assumed he found her attitude amusing, had it not been for the barely noticeable tightening of his jaw. She couldn't help but feel a small amount of satisfaction.

"Madam Pomfrey has released you from her care," he drawled dully, locking his arms behind his back.

"Are you her messenger boy, then?"

Snape narrowed his eyes but remained otherwise impassive. "Professor Dumbledore has _instructed_ me to escort you to your quarters."

They held each other's gaze in silence, but the longer they remained that way, the more hostile she became. When she had been alone, it had been relatively easy for her to try to mull over why she detested him so much, but in his presence, she just couldn't think logically through her animosity. The emotions he evoked in her seemed to have a life of their own, consuming her without difficulty. Gritting her teeth, she curled her fingers around the edge of the mattress, digging her nails into the fabric.

"I'm sure I can find my own way, _thank you_," she ground out, barely containing the bite in her voice. Gripping even harder, her arms began to tremble slightly from the tension but it was all she could do to avoid lunging at him. Regardless of the fact that she couldn't remember anything about Hogwarts, she was pretty sure that attacking a teacher would be a violation of the rules.

Snape's gaze darted to her arms momentarily but he said nothing about her stranglehold on the mattress. Instead, completely ignoring her refusal, he spun around on his heel and started towards the exit, calling "follow me" over his shoulder. When he reached the doors, he turned to see if she had pursed him, only to find that she hadn't moved at all. Crossing his arms, he matched her hostile gaze, no longer trying to mask his frustration. "Now, Miss Granger!"

"No."

A scowl spread across his lips and he began to slowly stalk back towards her. Coming right up to the side of the bed, he leaned forward once he reached the edge of the mattress, and towered over her small figure. She didn't flinch, didn't even blink as he loomed over her. Though she was sure his intimidation tactics would have made any other student soil themselves by now, s_he_ wasn't scared of him.

With his eyes narrowed, Snape brought his face so close to hers their noses were mere inches apart, before finally speaking in a low, dangerous tone. "As one of your professors, when I give you an order, you are expected to obey."

"No," she repeated, her own voice turning deadly. Gazing up at him insolently, she rose to her feet, forcing him to take half a step back. "I am not going anywhere with _you_."

"Watch it, Granger. If it wasn't for _me_, _you_ would be a corpse in the forest right now."

"Then maybe you should've left me to die!"

A thick silence fell between them as her words echoed off the stone walls. A deep creased formed between Snape's brows and the anger in his eyes slowly faded away as he studied her. The seconds passed and Hermione's confidence started to wane under his scrutiny. Swallowing, she pulled her gaze away from his, glancing at the floor instead.

"You don't mean that," he whispered.

"... Maybe I do."

The stillness lingered for a moment before she suddenly felt his firm grip on her wrist. Shocked, her head jerked up and she caught sight of his black eyes, suddenly filled with unexplainable fury before he starting pulling her towards the infirmary doors. At first she was too stunned and confused by his behaviour to react but it didn't take long for her senses to kick back in. The pressure of his fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist made her heart race and a burning rage pushed its way to the surface. Growling, she pulled her arm back, easily tearing it out of his strong grasp.

"Don't touch me!"

Snape glanced at his now empty hand, then back at Hermione. "If I were you, I would leash that defiant tongue of yours," he snapped, closing the small gap between them to stand over her once more. "I have much better things to do with my time than stand here arguing with you."

"Then why are you still here?" she spat.

"Because, on Dumbledore's orders, you are under my care until further notice."

Hermione froze and a deafening silence filled the room. It just_ couldn't_ be true. The headmaster had quite clearly seen their dislike for each other earlier, hadn't he? There was no way that Dumbledore would put them in that situation. Gaping up at him, she stumbled back a step and shook her head in disbelief.

"You're lying."

"Unfortunately, no. I am not. Now." He reached out again and grabbed her by the sleeve this time, in what felt like a deliberate attempt to avoid touching her directly. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's up to you, Miss Granger, but either way, I _will_ be bringing you to your quarters."

Shock mixed with anger and Hermione clenched her hands into fists, barely fighting back the urge to rip his head off. Though the mental image of doing just that was almost too satisfying to resist, the graphic visualization made her pause. Was_ this_ the type of person she wanted to be? Some sort of hybrid beast just waiting to strike? _No!_ If she had no choice but to be part monster, she would at least_ try_ to avoid acting like one, providing that Snape wouldn't make sticking to that conviction more difficult than necessary_. _Breathing deeply, she tore her eyes away from his and focused on the stones beneath their feet instead.

"Fine," she managed to hiss out between clenched teeth.

Apparently satisfied, Snape released his grip on her sleeve and strode to the door, opening it in one fluid movement and striding into the corridor without another glance in her direction. Letting out a resigned sigh, Hermione fell into step behind him.

As they moved through the castle, Hermione's frustrations started to slip away. It was difficult to remain worked up when there were so many fascinating details to take in. The statues, ghosts and suits of armor, the stonework, metalwork and pictures; there was something so beautiful about the castle's regal elegance that she couldn't believe she had forgotten the place. Afraid that she might miss something, her head twisted from side to side with each step as she soaked it all in. When they reached the stairwells, she couldn't resist peering over the railings, her eyes bright with curiosity as she watched the stairs shift and change courses.

They remained in blissful silence as they continued to descend through the castle, passing through the main floor and beginning the trek further down. Though the entire school had been built with solid stone, her footfalls were incredibly quiet - almost as if she wasn't walking at all – and as she listened to the gentle _tap, tap _of Snape's boots, she wondered just how much faith he had put in her concession since he hadn't once checked to ensure she was still following him.

When they stepped off the stairs into the dungeons, Hermione came to a sudden stop. "Oh, very funny," she muttered sarcastically. Pausing as well, Snape glanced over his shoulder. "A dungeon for a vampire. How original."

"Half-vampire," he corrected flatly, turning his back to her and resuming his strides. "And it's not a joke. You will be residing with me in the dungeons from now on."

"What?" Stumbling over her own feet, she had to brace a hand against the wall to avoid falling over. "_With _you?"

"Unless I am mistaken, your ears are still functioning even if your brain isn't, Granger, so I would advise against playing stupid."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then I suggest you choose your questions more wisely."

Scowling at his back, Hermione crossed her arms in order to avoid giving into the temptation to punch him. "What I _meant _was," she bit out, "isn't that against the rules? You're my teacher."

"Some of the rules no longer apply to you." What did _that _mean? As they turned down another corridor, Snape gazed over his shoulder and glowered at her when he saw how far back she had fallen. "Keep up, Granger. We haven't got all night."

"Well, maybe if you'd slow down I'd be able to," she snapped.

"My pace is fine. It's your mouth that needs slowing."

A low growl rumbled in her throat. Was Dumbledore trying to kill her? Or, more specifically, was he trying to get _Snape_ killed? The longer she remained in the Potions Master's presence, the more she started to wonder if the headmaster actually thought this was a good idea, or if he secretly had a sadistic side. At this rate, it would be sheer dumb luck if she and Snape didn't kill each other within a week.

As each step took them further into the dungeons, a small battle between instincts and logic raged inside of her. Though she was growing increasingly more agitated, she _had_ already agreed with go with him, so was there really any point in trying to fight it? Doing so would likely not end well for either of them and she really didn't want to break the promise to herself already, especially over something as simple as where she would be staying in the castle.

It wasn't until they had walked in silence for a little while longer that the humour of the situation finally struck and a small smirk crept across her face.

"_You_ stay in the _dungeons_?" she quipped, eyeing his bat-like appearance.

"Yes," he replied slowly, not at all sounding amused. "It's not my preference. All Slytherins reside in the dungeons."

That word seemed familiar. Frowning, Hermione quickened her strides to catch up with the professor. "What's a Slytherin?"

"It's one of the four Houses at Hogwarts. You are in Gryffindor."

"If I'm not a Slytherin ... why do I have to be in the dungeons?"

"Did you miss the part about being under my care, Miss Granger?" he snapped, his patience at an end. Coming to a sudden stop, he twisted to the side, pinning her with a glare. "The dungeons are my place of residence, and as such, will be yours as well until the headmaster decides otherwise. Have I made myself clear?"

It took more effort than it should have to avoid doing something stupid. Curling her hands into fists and biting her tongue, Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. They stared at each other for a moment before he turned away and carried on down the corridor.

After rounding a few corners, he led her to an out of the way passage that she would have missed entirely. It seemed as though the hallway had been specifically designed to be hard to notice. Snape came to a stop and waited for her at the end of the hall in front of a huge portrait. As she neared, Hermione saw that the portrait was of a flower garden that_ could_ have been rather beautiful, if it wasn't for the serpents slithering around and devouring the otherwise perfect white lilies. She watched the elegant patterns the snakes made as they slinked through the garden, choosing which of the lilies to consume next. As soon as one had been destroyed and the snake had moved on to its next target, what remained of the lily would wither and die, only to regrow moments later, exactly as it had been seconds before.

Mesmerized, she wanted to stay there to look more closely at the painting, but Snape wasn't willing to give her that opportunity.

"Pozoituta maitasuna."

Accepting the password, the portrait swung open and Snape stepped inside without another word. Quietly following him, Hermione found herself in a very dim but surprisingly warm room. Stepping a little further inside, she squinted through the darkness to try to make out the space until Snape waved his wand at the fireplace and bright red flames sprung up from the kindling at the bottom, illuminating the room.

In front of the fireplace were two leather chairs and a matching sofa. Behind the sofa, in one of the corners, sat a large wooden desk with parchment, quills, and ink bottles spread out over the top of it. Along the same wall, under a window that looked out onto the lake, was a long, thin brewing table with a few small, bubbling cauldrons. Beside the table rested a carefully stocked, glass-encased ingredient cabinet, while the remainder of the walls had been lined with shelves, each one filled to capacity with all manner of books. The cold stone floor had been covered by a plush, dark green and silver rug, and hanging from the ceiling was a rather elaborate crystal chandelier.

Hermione gazed around the room but the majority of her interest was on the hundreds of books surrounding them. As she eyed the shelves greedily, she suddenly started to feel as though staying there wasn't going to be _quite_ as bad as she had originally thought ... _maybe_.

"This is the sitting room," Snape announced, stepping into her view. He must have noticed how focused she had become on the bookshelves and didn't think she would hear him otherwise. "That is the bedroom," he continued, pointing across the way to the only other door leading from the main room, directly across from the portrait hole. "You can access the bathroom through there."

She eyed him wearily for a moment before crossing to the indicated door and resting her hand on the silver handle, but she didn't go inside. Something about the way he had described this section of the quarters hadn't sounded right ... Shaking her head lightly, she opened the door and stepped inside the doorway to investigate.

The bedroom was very similar to the sitting room, though much smaller. The same dark stone lined the walls, but it was hard to tell with all the bookshelves covering the walls, all of which were stocked full. On one end of the bedroom was a fireplace, on the other was a closed door, which she assumed led to the bathroom. In the middle of the back wall lay two large beds, separated by about three feet of space and nearby each were identical mahogany dressers and wardrobes.

She stood in the doorway, staring at the beds for a moment, not wanting to believe what she was seeing.

"We're _sharing_ a bedroom?"

"... We have to."

Something about the slow, quiet way he spoke made her turn around. Standing in the middle of the main room just as she had left him, Snape suddenly appeared conflicted and almost uncomfortable, making it rather apparent that the living arrangements hadn't been his idea.

"What do you mean?"

"There is a lot more to your ... _predicament_ than what was explained earlier." Turning away from her, he stepped towards the fireplace and stood beside the chair closest to the portrait hole, locking his hands behind his back and tilting his head towards the chair opposite. "Sit. There is still a lot to discuss."

Rooted in the doorway between the two rooms, Hermione glanced at the chairs. Now that the wonder of the castle had worn off, she wasn't sure being near him much longer was a good idea. Her predisposition towards him was rough enough on its own, but to throw in an unsupervised debriefing about her new life as well? The combination was just asking for her to turn murderous.

Though, apparently, Snape disagreed.

"You may have had plenty of rest in the last few weeks, Miss Granger, but I haven't been so _privileged_," Snape griped impatiently, settling into his chair. "We've wasted enough time as it is and I would like to get some sleep before dawn."

Drawing in a breath, Hermione reluctantly stepped back into the sitting room. As she crossed to the fireplace, her muscles tightened with each step, as if she was waiting for _him_ to strike. Though the notion was silly, seeing as _she_ was the dangerous one, no amount of rationalizing was able to calm her nerves. Her body felt wooden as she sat on edge of the chair, her gaze fixed on the carpet. In the short periods of time they had already spent together, she noticed that avoiding direct eye contact with him seemed to help keep her under some amount of control. She could feel Snape's eyes on her the whole time and she wondered if he could tell just how unsettled she felt.

"Relax, Granger. _I_ don't bite."

Glancing up, she saw the barest hint of a smirk on the professor's face. Was he actually trying to make a joke or was he just insulting her? Whatever his motive, it was a blatant and inconsiderate reminder of what she had become and of how easily things could turn sour. She gritted her teeth and balled her fists together in her lap.

"Just get on with it."

"_Now_ you're in a rush?" Snape challenged, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "This would have been over with by now if you hadn't thrown Dumbledore and I out of the infirmary before we had finished."

"I needed time to think."

"No, you needed time to act like the victim!"

Hermione's jaw dropped. It would have been less offensive if he had merely slapped her. She sat frozen in her seat, gaping at him as she struggled to find the words to properly articulate the rush of emotions that slammed into her. She wanted to tear his throat out for his stunning lack of sensitivity _and_ to hide in a dark corner like some sort of wounded animal. The odd combination of outrage and anguish swirled around inside of her and she recoiled into the back of the chair.

"W-what? I-"

"It is a characteristic you didn't seem to have until quite recently," he continued harshly, ignoring her, "and I won't tolerate a repeat performance. It doesn't flatter you in the least, nor will it change your situation." She opened her mouth to protest but he plowed on. "If you don't start accepting what you have become, it will destroy you and likely anyone else who is around you. Since I am now responsible for you, I will not allow you to put _my _life at risk as well just because you have suddenly decided to have delicate sensibilities!"

Hermione's mouth went dry. She _wanted_ to argue, _wanted_ to tell him just how wrong he was and where he could shove his tolerance ... but she couldn't ... Logically, she knew he was right; that wallowing in self-pity wouldn't change that fact that she had lost half of her humanity – that _n__othing_ would change that – but emotionally she felt bullied for being overwhelmed by her uncontrollable circumstances. Gripping the arms of the chair, she tore her stunned gaze away to peer into the fireplace.

As she watched the orange and yellow flames dancing over the wood, the hypnotic movements resonated with her and she was suddenly struck by similarities between the blaze and herself. When in a controlled environment the fire blended into the scenery, becoming one with the rest of the room, but when left unchecked and allowed to roam wild, it would feed off everything that crossed its path ...

Blinking, she shook her head before turning back to Snape, feeling like she had just come out of a trance. When their eyes met, he rose an eyebrow in a challenging manner, and she realized that not only did she not know how long she had been staring into the flames, but he also hadn't interrupted her. Had he known what she had wanted to say to him? Had he wanted her to come to her own decision about where to go from here; to reign herself in or succumb to her emotions?

Glancing at the floor again, she took in a deep breath and tried to focus now that her thoughts weren't so scattered. She had let the impact of his words throw her off from the very reason why they were there in the first place. _Answers_. She wanted them, he had them. And if the beginning of this conversation had been any proof, what he was about to tell her was going to be uncomfortable and upsetting, but she couldn't just shut down every time she heard something she didn't like or she'd never learn how to function in her new life.

As Snape had said, she needed to start accepting the truth or she'd never learn to control herself. _One step at a time ... _The first step being making it through the night, hopefully without bloodshed.

"I-In the infirmary," she started hesitantly, "you said that I can't convert others because my ... _venom_ acts differently." She paused to evaluate his reaction. He was watching her pensively, waiting for her to continue. "Why is mine different from those who are born as half-vampires?"

"Your venom is far too heavily diluted. The body of a born one was prepared in the womb to support two life systems, the human and the vampiric. Yours was not. Couple that with the vastly weaker venom that the born ones produce, there isn't much left over once you've transitioned."

"Why don't I remember any of this information? I still have all my magical knowledge."

"You never learned it. It was never part of your lessons here." Leaning more comfortably into the chair, Snape eyed her carefully. "Very little is known about the born half-vampires and even less about the converted ones. It isn't exactly common for a human to mate with a vampire in the first place, let alone carry their child to full term. That, and the Ministry has laws about them. If they fail to learn how to blend in with society safely, they will be ... removed." She stiffened slightly, which didn't seem escape his notice, but he didn't call her on it. "The point is for humans, magical or Muggle, to have little to no knowledge of their existence. The last thing the Ministry wants is for vampires to realize they can mass breed."

Swallowing, she hesitantly nodded. His explanation made sense except ... "If that's true, then why do you know so much about them?"

All night he had made it a point to keep steady eye contact with her, whether to intimidate or to ensure she wouldn't try anything, until now. His eyes drifted to the fireplace in a manner that she was sure he had intended to look casual but she got the impression he was specifically avoiding her gaze for a reason.

So the headmaster wasn't the only one keeping secrets ...

"I met a convert years ago during the first war."

Hermione frowned. "War?"

Returning his gaze to her, he stared in silence for a moment. He seemed puzzled for a split second, as if he had forgotten that she didn't remember anything, but he recovered quickly enough. Leaning forward slightly, he spent the next few minutes giving her a short summary of the first war, Lord Voldemort's fall, and the clear evidence that a second war was just starting to break out. Though his explanation sounded thorough, Hermione got the feeling that he was editing out some of the information.

As his story concluded, something clicked in her head, like a memory returning. "You were a Death Eater." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," he replied slowly.

"Are you still?"

He narrowed his eyes. "That's not your concern." Before she could try to ask any more questions, he swiftly moved on, bringing the conversation back on track. "Morgan, the other convert, was a Death Eater contact during the war. It was often my responsibility to communicate with her, and don't bother asking why."

"Did she have someone helping her too?"

"No." Before she could protest, he added, "She had only recently transitioned and didn't know anything about her situation when we met. She didn't know anyone who could teach her how to handle her new life, and since her situation involved being elusive and often times on the run, she didn't need the guidance in the same way as you do. She wasn't around a school full of fresh, young blood."

Hermione barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Of course it was just her luck that some fugitive informant of the Dark Lord had more freedom than she did, but she thought it best not to complain or risk another tongue lashing for her 'childishness.'

"So you learned how to handle someone like me through Morgan?"

"I had no choice. The Dark Lord had put us on assignment together. If I hadn't taken the time to figure out how to manage her, I would be dead. There were a lot of ... mistakes and near misses that took place during the adjustment, but eventually I figured it out."

She was almost tempted to ask what kind of 'mistakes' he meant, but decided against it. She got the impression that calling out his errors would do very little to get on his good side, and she wanted to keep the conversation as civil as possible. The fact that they had been able to converse this long without it dissolving into an argument was a feat in itself.

"So then what happened to her after the war?"

"I don't know." His gaze conveniently moved to the fireplace again. "She decided she didn't need someone to assist her anymore and took off. She was wrong, of course. Being left to her own devices she was driven insane and disappeared before anyone could stop her. She covered her tracks so well, even the Ministry couldn't locate her."

Hermione's brain froze. "Driven insane?"

Nodding, he folded his hands together and placed his elbows on his knees, his gaze turning hard and cold. Not that he had seemed particularly warm and open beforehand, but the intensity of his gaze now worried her. "This was what I wanted to explain earlier, so pay attention because it is vitally important, and if I need to repeat myself, it will already be too late." She swallowed nervously and nodded, but remained silent. "Just because your venom isn't poisonous doesn't mean you aren't a danger to those around you. Your body will now forever be at war with itself, the human half trying to suppress the vampiric, and the vampiric trying to suppress the human. The only way to keep your two systems under control is to feed both of them."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "As in ... blood and food?"

He nodded. "Your desire for blood will either decrease or increase depending on your levels of stress, exhaustion, extreme emotions, blood loss, or food consumption. The less food you consume, the stronger the blood desire will become, but don't delude yourself into thinking that a good diet will fix everything.

"The vampiric side will constantly be trying to take over more of your body to sustain itself; the weaker your human side becomes, the greater the risk of turning feral. Your stress level can just as easily change you as an empty stomach, so you must_ always_ be aware of your state or what remains of your humanity will be quite literally eaten by the inhuman cells and acids in your body. Even then, if you are able to master your self-awareness, there is nothing that can truly stop the cravings from eventually creeping through."

Hermione cringed and tore her eyes away, hastily glancing at the floor. The thought of her body consuming itself made her feel a little nauseous and she hadn't exactly been prepared for _this_. She had led herself to believe that figuring this life out wouldn't take longer than a few weeks at most, but now she wasn't so sure how long it would take, or if controlling herself would even be possible. That's what scared her the most: never knowing herself.

"The cravings ..." she whispered, keeping her head down. "How do I handle them?"

"There is only one way to do so, Miss Granger. You'll have to feed."

Hermione drew in a sharp breath and clamped her eyes shut. She already knew she'd have to drink blood, it had been mentioned before, though it had felt merely like a thought then, something that could easily be passed by like an empty concept, but now it felt like a true, hard fact. Now it felt real. Trying desperately to stay under control, especially now that she knew doing so was so important, she cupped her face in her palms and tried to take calm, even breaths.

"The cravings can hit rather quickly," Snape pressed on, "so when you start to feel the desire, I would advise against wasting time analyzing your state of mind or recalling when you last ate. You will need to feed as quickly as possible before the desire increases. The stronger your desire, the less control you have over yourself, and I don't just mean control over your cravings."

To make matters even worse, anger started to trickle in again, mixing with her anxiety, but this anger felt different than before. It wasn't her unusual distaste for Snape that fueled it: it was all the implications that she was _that_ dangerous. Yes, she was part monster now, and yes, she would need to feed, but would Dumbledore really be dim enough to let her stay at Hogwarts if she was really that big of risk? The fact that she was still here had to mean _something_, right? How dangerous could she really be if he was letting her stay in a school full of possible victims?

Speaking of which ...

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to feed at Hogwarts?" she grumbled, glancing up at him. "I can't just walk up to a random student and jump them."

"Of course not. There are rules that need to be followed in regards to your feeds."

"Of course there are." She sneered, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I need to do this, I can't do that. I'm practically under lock and key, like some criminal!"

"Funny, I always thought you enjoyed following the rules."

"Then I must have been crazy before all this, because this is suffocating!"

"_This_," Snape snapped back, "is what is keeping you and everyone else safe. I don't care how stifled you feel. You will follow these rules perfectly or I will hand you over to the Ministry myself!" She growled at him, but he didn't so much as flinch. "You don't scare me, Granger, and before you get on your high horse and declare how unfair your life is, these are not rules that _I_ have created for you. These are important components to your continued sanity and are required if you expect the Ministry to let you live!"

Hermione could felt her pulse in her head, beating like war drums, calling her to battle. A snarl ripped through her throat and in a flash Snape's wand was in his hand, pointed directly at her, but he hadn't used it yet. Their eyes bored into one another, both daring the other to make the first move, but neither did. After a moment, Snape slowly lowered his wand.

"Think about what you are doing, Granger. If you don't want to be restricted, you need to control yourself. The Ministry will not hesitate to take you down and despite what you said earlier, I don't believe that you truly want to die." Deliberately ensuring she could see what he was doing, Snape carefully pocketed his wand. "Death is the ultimate form of confinement. At least here, you have a chance to live. Make your choice wisely."

Teetering on the edge of her impulses, Hermione eyed the pocket containing his wand. He hadn't attacked. He could have, but he didn't. He wasn't a threat; the Ministry, maybe, but he wasn't ... at least not yet. A real threat wouldn't have shown such mercy.

_Wait, what? _When did she start thinking of other people as threats? Glancing up, she met Snape's gaze and saw the answer in his eyes. _When I stopped acting human ... _That realization was like a slap in the face and fear flooded her senses, drowning her rage. It wasn't the feral fight or flight kind of fear, it was an incredibly _human _version; fear of herself. Shivering, Hermione recoiled into the chair and lowered her gaze to the carpet. If this was how easy it was for her to lose control in general, she couldn't even imagine how much worse it would get when she'd need to feed. At least now she understood how important the rules were.

"I'm fine." Exhaling, she peered over at him through the strands of hair that had fallen over her face. "And I'm listening."

Sitting stiffly, Snape studied her for a moment before nodding. "Very well." Leaning back more comfortably, his body relaxed, the tension melting away as if a great weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. "Now, your blood source must be from a human; animal blood will do nothing for you. Secondly, your source needs to be fresh from the vein. It cannot be stored and used later. Doing so will poison you."

"And who, exactly, do you expect to volunteer to be my 'blood source'? I can't imagine people would be lining up to help me."

"I will be your source."

Hermione stared at him in stunned silence before suddenly laughing. She just couldn't help it; the hits just kept on coming and if she didn't laugh, she'd break down again like she had the infirmary. Besides, why would _he_ of all people be offering himself up to her? They hated each other. "You know, for a second there, I thought you were serious." When she noticed his lack of amusement, she froze. "Wait ... Are you?"

"That is why we need to share a bedroom. Often times blood cravings will rise during the night when your body is finally getting a chance to relax and process the day. It's when your human side is most vulnerable. It is important that I be near when they strike."

Of all the things Hermione had learned tonight, _this_ was the thing that rattled her the most. Putting a face to the concept of drinking one's blood ... Her breathing quickened and she started to feel light headed. Anxiety, anger, fear, disgust, sadness; every possible negative emotion started to collide together and she felt the same squeezing feeling in her chest that she had experienced earlier that night. Only this time she knew what it meant; all her emotional fluctuations and the revelations were too overwhelming, and her feral instincts were fighting to push through, choking her humanity.

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat and avoiding his eyes, she struggled to speak through the pressure. "Why are you doing this?" she choked out.

"Because I'm the only one who knows how," he admitted gravely, "and I would rather not watch another convert go insane. It isn't a pleasant process."

She couldn't handle it anymore. Hermione jumped to her feet and crossed towards the exit as quickly as her legs would carry her. She _had _to get out of the room before she suffocated. Out of the corner of her eye as she passed him, she could see his frustrated expression but she didn't care. She'd rather have him angry with her than dead.

"Where do you think you're going?" he barked, twisting around in his chair.

"Air," was all she managed to gasp before she dashed out of the room and the portrait slammed closed behind her.


End file.
